Superstitions
by The Fifth Champion
Summary: People always claimed that things happened in The Swamp. But, of course, banished princes don’t believe such nonsense. ONESHOT


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender. If I did, poor Zuko would be traumatized by all the horrors I would put him through.

**A/N: **Whoa. O...kay... I finished this really, really late last night. (Like, three o'clock in the morning!) I correted it this morning, but please forgive any errors that you might still have come across. Oh yeah, and this took place after the episode "The Swamp," so it was probably a day or so after Aang and the gang went into it. Please read and review! Please! I makes my worldworth living! lol. I hope you enjoy.

_Superstitions _

In truth, The Swamp was really only one tree.

Its thick, enormous trunk jutted up proudly from the very center of a vast sea of nettles, prickly bushes, muddied green water, and soft, slimly soil. Its gnarled roots snaked long pathways through The Swamp, enriching the earth and willing other forms of vegetation to spurt up around them. The tree hefted strong, firm branches—laden with flat, green leaves—that housed all different types of strange birds and scraggly rodents. Scaly creatures slithered below the fat trunk and splayed branches; others burrowed beneath the elongated roots.

At least, that's what people _say._

But, then…people say many things, most of which aren't very believable. Gaggles of civilians had been known to huddle together on particularly dull nights, clasping mugs overflowing with cider, eager to swap gossip and whisper dark tales that had transpired on more eventful days. Numerous stories of simple travelers foolish enough set foot inside areas as forbidden as The Swamp—spirited benders lured towards the dense bog after claiming to hear breathy voices inviting them in. Some, villagers would murmur dramatically, never returned. Others crashed through the spiny underbrush days later, faces drawn and haggard, shrieking terrible tales of grotesque monsters and haunting apparitions.

People always claimed that things happened in The Swamp.

But, of course, Prince Zuko didn't believe such nonsense.

"I don't know why you wasted your time listening to that drunkard's ridiculous fairytale, Uncle," he scoffed as they filed out of a cramped restaurant. His straw hat had been tugged forcefully over his unwavering eyes, cloaking his entire face in thin shadows. His footsteps were rough and aggravated. "All that ale obviously went straight to his head."

Iroh merely loosed a hearty guffaw, his round stomach jiggling with the effort of his merriment. His ruddy cheeks were drawn back in a wide grin as he clapped a warm hand onto Zuko's rigid shoulder. Still chuckling, he turned towards his bitter nephew.

"Come, Zuko! You mean to tell me that you didn't find that kind man's account at all intriguing? Just think! A cursed swamp sounds so—"

"Absurd," Zuko cut in abruptly. He jerked his uncle's weathered hand off his shoulder uncomfortably, stalking a few feet forward. "This infamous swamp is nothing more than a mud-hole filled with grass and filthy animals."

A delicate chortle chimed somewhere nearby. Zuko whipped his head around swiftly, his hard gold eyes scanning the crowded area with easy skill. A slender girl was sidling towards them, her long skirts billowing elegantly around her knees in the soft breeze. Tossing a thick mane of curls over her shoulder, she met Zuko's gaze with open defiance.

"You don't believe in The Swamp?" A quirk toyed with her pink lips.

"No," Zuko retorted simply. "I don't."

Without waiting for a response, he turned curtly on his heel and began to walk away. He had no time or patience for a gullible girl and her foolish beliefs; let her cling onto her silly ideas—he wasn't going to waste valuable effort bickering over such mundane things.

"Well, you don't have to run away just because you're scared!"

Zuko stopped. Vaguely, he could feel his quickened pulse racing through his veins with heated fever. The world around him blazed into a fiery haze.

The voice that had uttered those words no longer sounded foreign and unknown. Instead it was sickeningly soft and feminine, like bitter venom soaked in a saturated sweetness.

The prince swung his head around, watching as the girl's dark curls bobbed gracefully around her smug face. He half-expected to see a regal hairpiece glint upon those silky black tresses; to have her chocolate brown gaze meld into a sinister amber. Familiarity hovered about her devilish cherry smirk.

And suddenly she wasn't a simple stranger clad in peasant attire, but a pompous princess gloating over her wins. A haughty girl sneering down at his scarred face.

A favored daughter snickering at her banished brother.

"You think I'm _afraid?" _

Iroh was edging towards them now, his craggy face wrinkled further in a deep frown, his hands flailing in anxious gestures. Zuko ignored him. His head was roaring.

"You think that your pathetic mud-hole can intimidate me?" he snarled furiously.

The girl looked slightly taken aback by Zuko's sudden burst of rage. The cocky determination in her eyes dimmed somewhat, and her boastful grin flickered. Even so, she lifted her small chin deftly and glared at him.

"Precisely," she tittered. "Unless you can prove me wrong. Why don't you check out The Swamp tonight? I mean—surely, if you're not _scared…"_

"Nephew," Iroh cautioned urgently. "Cursed places are not to go wondering in. It would be unwise to tread upon soil where spirits coexist."

The flames licking at Zuko's insides subsided momentarily, dampened by Iroh's feverish warnings. Even if he didn't believe in curses, his old uncle did, and it unsettled the prince to imagine the man slinking behind him with shuddering legs and contorted features.

Although he'd rather cut out his own tongue that admit it, Zuko didn't like to see his uncle upset. A retired general of Iroh's caliber deserved to be showered with limitless relaxation and glittering riches. Instead, the elderly man had chosen to discard that sort of life in exchange for the mounting stress that came with chasing his evicted nephew all around the globe.

Stiffly, slowly, he answered. "I don't have to prove anything to you."

Iroh's furrowed brow loosened in relief, but a strange light was flaring in the girl's darkling russet eyes.

"But perhaps you have something to prove to the one who gave you that scar."

It wasn't a question, but a statement. A clipped fact issued by someone who undoubtedly knew what she was speaking about.

All the air vanished from Zuko's lungs, leaving them parched and barren. A hot red light seemed to be pressing itself against his left eye. The blurred world around him cracked and shattered. He couldn't explain the oppressive emotion that was pouring over his entire body, smothering his senses. It was so cold it burned.

"Only a shameful child would say something so dishonorable," he heard his uncle reprimand. "My nephew and I have no time for such foolery!"

Zuko felt the numbing emotion that had choked him into silence waver slightly. In its place roared a wild loath, fueling his inner flame.

"Where's this swamp?" His voice was a hissed whisper.

The girl's milky face was still stunned and blank—her eyes were still frozen into huge tan plates, and her pinkish lips still hung open in a small semicircle. Her own words seemed to have rendered her lost and helpless.

"Listen—" she sputtered nervously. "I…I don't know what made me say that. I—just forget it, okay? Your uncle was right. Let's forget this whole thing ever happened! It's not important."

Her entire body was trembling as she turned to walk away, her long hair fanning out behind her like a silky black veil. Her footsteps were sloppy and uneven, devoid of the fluid grace she had displayed while marching up towards them.

The smile on Zuko's face was fierce yet forced, bitter as it played at his lips.

"You don't have to run away just because you're _scared."_

The girl halted and Zuko knew who had won.

* * *

_"Come…come…and burn…burn all…all…resistance…" _

The Swamp was damp and heavy with some sort of exotic aroma Zuko couldn't decipher. The air was thick and alive with the furtive chatter of millions of different species—all squawking, growling, snorting, chirping…the alien sounds clashed and blended together in a distorted melody. It dulled Zuko's mind into a throbbing ache.

Every time he glanced backwards, the clearing had receded even further into a dim, flat horizon, along with the shadowed pinpricks that were his uncle and that brash peasant girl.

Iroh was not coming. Remnants of the prince's anger—his humiliation—began to prickle and spark within him once more. What that bratty peasant had said to him was too much. He vowed that he would make her swallow back such rash words, even if she had continued to stammer empty apologies all the way here. She had no right to spout seemingly witty remarks about things she could never understand.

But her words were _his _burden—not his uncle's—and Zuko was determined to prove them false on his own. And if that meant venturing into a dank bog with nothing but the internal flames that simmered beneath his fingertips, he was more than willing to comply.

_"…come…come…without masks…without…charades…"_

A faint rustle rippled overhead, the thin wind gliding through the skinny trees, tugging at prickly, serrated leaves. Slender branches and bountiful amounts of vegetation netted together to form a thick canopy, blocking the feeble rays of light emitted by the sinking sun. Dusk was fading and an iced night was quick at its heels. The darkness that fell around The Swamp was greenish and soft.

Zuko loosed a faint sigh, kicking up a cloud of moist dirt. Perhaps…perhaps he wasn't really here because of what that reckless peasant had decided to spew. Zuko felt something buried deep within him pulsate in sudden pain. Maybe there was another reason he was crashing his way into this pathetic mire. A reason that traced jagged tears across his soul, that compressed any inkling of emotion he owned, that burned bright and obvious on his pale face—

"Father! Father! I'm coming home!"

Zuko whipped his head around, just in time to see a lithe figure flitting its way through the many trees and low-hanging vines. Something about its cry echoed through the humid air in a breathy crescendo of haunting cadences. Zuko narrowed his golden eyes, staring at the slender blur lilting its way through The Swamp.

Something about the way it moved was so—familiar…

"Who are you?" Zuko shouted, weaving his way through the spindly trees after the figure. Branches snagged at his clothing. "What are you doing here?"

The figure stumbled to a halt, titling its cloaked head backwards at the prince somewhat playfully. Had his face not been shrouded in both cloth and shadow, Zuko was certain he'd see a smile flit across its lips.

"Don't worry, Zuko," the figure whispered softly. A boy's voice. "You won't lose me this time."

Zuko's legs cramped up against movement; he felt his entire body go numb. The boy's voice was light and airy, but it resounded throughout the whole bog in overlapping echoes. They poured over Zuko in eerie remembrance.

The prince knew that voice. He knew it better than his own. But—who did it belong to? Zuko's heart pounded jerkily against his ribcage, demanding freedom. How did this boy even know his name?

"You didn't answer my question!" he retorted, cutting through the soggy vines crisscrossing before him with a flaming hand. "Who are you? How do you know my name? What are you doing here?"

The cloaked boy merely giggled, sprinting a few feet ahead of the aggravated firebender. Zuko raced after him, his feet plunging into a shallow pool of muddy water as he did so. Outstretching branches offered longer, thicker vines—each one ensnaring Zuko in their slimy grip.

The prince growled in frustration, before releasing a crackling fireball that reduced the damp foliage to a smoldering pile of ashes. He turned to chase after the boy once again, but found the shadowy area barren of the slender figure. Zuko fell back against a rotted tree stump, its bark rough against his back, and panted hard. His body wasn't tired but his brain was spinning. His reluctant memory still refused to give away the identity of the cloaked child.

"You shouldn't have done that."

The prince jolted, jumping a few feet away from the decaying stump that had been supporting him. He stared at the veiled figure that had suddenly materialized before him, gazing sadly at the burnt remains of the vines. The boy reached out a pale hand and touched the charred vestiges. His fingertips looked soft and supple; his nails were clean and filed meticulously, as if he had never before fingered the filth of The Swamp.

"Who are you?" Zuko repeated. His hands flared with fire, though he didn't know why he felt threatened. It was unlike him to be so on edge because of a mere child.

"You shouldn't have hurt The Swamp," the boy breathed somberly. "It will be angry now. You made it bleed."

Zuko felt his throat constrict. He could see nothing but the faint frown that creased the boy's mouth—even his eyes seemed to be swathed in the curdled darkness of his hood. The prince forced his shameful unease to ebb away. He could not feel fear. Even as a banished prince, he had his dignity to retain. There was no reason to be even slightly unnerved—every word this boy had uttered so far seemed like meaningless nonsense.

"A swamp can't _feel _anything," he scoffed strongly. He allowed the fire licking at his fingertips to sputter and die. "And it can't become angry. Stop trying to toy with my mind. How do you know my name? _Answer_ me!"

"I know you," the boy answered delicately. "Don't you know me?"

"Stop speaking in riddles!"  
"This is no riddle," The child cocked his head teasingly, his white lips forming a subtle smile. "You don't remember me anymore. You've forced me to go away. I've been watching you from behind a window."

"I've never met you!" Zuko's entire body felt paralyzed, stiffened by a rigid discomfort that he couldn't explain. How was it that every word this boy spoke jabbed him like a cold dagger? He hardly noticed how fast and shallow his breathing had become. "I don't even know who you are!"

"Of course you do," the boy answered cheerily. "You just don't want to. Stop crying, Zuko, everything will be better now. Don't you want to go home?"  
The numbness in the prince's body faded slightly as a bitter anger rose up in his throat. For the second time today, he had been mocked by a complete stranger. For the second time today, he had been forced to recognize his shame, his humiliation; his banishment.

How _dare _this foolish boy snicker at his secret longings! How dare he reopen wounds Zuko had tried so hard to close!

_How dare this boy see his dry eyes shed tears… _

"Leave me alone," Zuko had wanted his voice to roar in a forceful bellow, but instead it was a weak treble. "All I want is for you to leave me alone."

Silence reigned; Zuko heard the shrill cawing of a bird reverberating somewhere in the distance. The cloaked boy edged closer to him, his perfect hands empty and outstretched.

"All you want is to go home," His voice echoed in a whispery chorus. "All you want is for Father to love—"

_"No!" _

Zuko's mind was a whirling haze of pain and defiance. He hated the words that fell so eloquently from the boy's lips. He hated the greenish-gray swamp that seemed to be jeering at him with its twisting labyrinths of decaying trees and moist vines. He hated the hidden desires locked away in the shattered bits of his soul. He hated the fire that flared at his fingertips. At that moment, he hated everything.

Including himself.

The sparks at his hands sizzled then died the moment he grabbed the child's wrists. The boy shrieked and tried to pull away, sobbing as he writhed in Zuko's tight clench. He jerked his head back and forth wildly, the velvet black hood swaying before it fell back around his shoulders.

"You're always hurting me, Zuko!" he shrilled. "Why are you always hurting me?"

The prince's grip slackened and he let go. His entire face was drained of what little pigment his pale cheeks held, making his scar stand out like a wild red flame on his left eye. A feeling of total sickness seized him.

Teary-eyed and panting, a fourteen-year-old Zuko stared back at his current self. His dark brown hair—almost black—had begun to escape from his tight ponytail, falling around his smooth, unscarred face. His amber eyes kindled with a fire that the older Zuko's were empty of. He looked young and innocent and untainted.

"Don't you want to go home again?" The unscarred prince choked. Can't you hear The Swamp calling you?"

_"Come…come…without…fears…burn…all resistance…" _

For a moment, Zuko couldn't breathe. He gazed back at his younger self with eyes that mirrored the boy's misery and doubt. He ignored the breathy invitation attempting to lure him deeper into of The Swamp. Fourteen-year-old Zuko merely sniffled and vanished. The prince dropped to his knees with cold hands clenched over his face.

"My precious child…where have you gone?"

Zuko's head snapped up, his frantic heart fluttering jerkily in his chest. He could not possibly have heard the words that had fallen upon his ringing ears; could not have actually heard that sweet, pure voice resounding throughout this dank hell.

_And yet…_

He climbed shakily to his feet. "Mother…?"

Delicate footfalls were crunching between the skeletal trees that jutted up all around him. Zuko crashed through a patch of spiny underbrush, his wide eyes tentative as they scanned the misty environment. The logical piece of his brain pleaded with him to recognize the utter foolishness of looking for his mother here. The other pieces still throbbed with the shock of seeing a younger reflection of himself. If that was possible—what else?

"My child!" The voice called again. "Where have you gotten to?"

Zuko twisted his whole body around and found himself face to face with his mother.

The woman was tall and elegant, her black hair streaming to her shoulders in an inky fountain. Her almond-shaped eyes were sharp and bright like gold jewels as they glimmered in their sockets. She moved carefully and precisely, the opulent skirt of her gown fanning out behind her in crimson folds of satin.

Zuko's entire mouth went dry. His whirling thoughts stilled and silenced. His mother reached out a slender hand and stroked his face, though he could not feel her cool fingertips against his cheeks.

_It's—all—not—real! _He struggled to believe. _You're—just—hallucinating!_

Zuko watched numbly as a single tear rolled down his mother's porcelain cheek. She parted her ruby lips and loosed a strangled cry.

"You've given up," she breathed brokenly. "You've stopped searching for the Avatar. I will never see my son again."

"No!" The words flew from the prince's mouth in a rapid rush. "Mother, it's not like that. It wouldn't matter if I brought back the Avatar, because I can never go home now. Father sent Azula to imprison me. You have to understand! You're the only one who ever does. Even if I brought back the Avatar, Father would still have both me and Uncle jailed…"

His mother's eyes grew wide and glassy, reflecting the dim gray mist of The Swamp in amber hues. She slowly nudged her head from left to right, pin-straight locks of hair drifting before her contorted face. She stretched out a quivering hand to him, but withdrew it abruptly, allowing it to fall limply at her side. Tears brimmed in her tilted eyes before curling down her perfect face. Zuko tried to speak, but his voice was lost.

"My prince," she whimpered lovingly. "I'll never see my prince again…"

Something gleamed between his mother's clenched fingers. Zuko felt his heart freeze. His mother hefted the blade gently in her hand, gazing at him with shattered gold eyes. Her mouth was pursed in a quivery line.

But Lady Azalea never carried a blade. Never once had he seen his mother stride about the court with a dagger strapped to her thin waist. Why should a royal woman bear a weapon while she swaggered about her palace?

But then—why had he not seen the blade until now? Why was the wife of the Fire Lord even dwelling in an Earth Kingdom's swamp?

"You promised me you would come home," Lady Azalea whispered tearfully. "I'm sorry, my son."

_"Mother, don't!"_

But the cry came too late; the woman jived the silver blade downward into her unprotected midriff. Blood oozed forth from the wound, soaking her ornate clothing and pooling at her feet. Its coppery smell was heavy in the air. Lady Azalea teetered, then fell to the mossy floor—lifeless.

Zuko couldn't feel himself as he dropped to his knees. His eyes burnt with tears too stubborn to be released. He had forgotten how to cry. The prince's insides shuddered violently, and he lurched forward, hacking and coughing.

"Mother—"he wheezed desperately. "No—Mother, please, not because of me…"

He crawled over to the woman's limp form, shaking as he gazed into her frozen face, beautiful but icy in death. He stroked her black tresses, sputtering feeble apologies that fell on deaf ears. The Swamp around him faded into a dull grayish shroud.

"We were meant to live," A voice murmured sadly. Zuko's head shot up, his hot eyes widening as they fell upon his younger self once more. Fresh tears were coursing down the fourteen-year-old prince's face. They rolled over smooth, unbroken skin—no reddish scars marring his innocent features.

"We were meant to _live, _Zuko," he repeated quietly. "But somehow, death caught us both."

The entire world was pressing in on him. Zuko couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He wanted to speak but no words came out. A terrible sickness was clawing at the back of his throat; he thought he might disgorge what little food he had eaten.

'_All I ever wanted was to come back to a family that longed for me. To make my mother smile instead of cry. To top my sister once—just once. To have a father that was proud of me. All I wanted was to be that ignorant little boy who died the day his father scorched him…"_

The Swamp began to buzz and chatter. Zuko opened his eyes and found himself hunched over a fallen log, damp with pearly drops of dew. A muddy puddle of water had collected around it. He glanced at his surroundings shakily and found that he was alone.

Had it all been a hallucination? A wild nightmare?

_"Come…come…and know…truth…"_

People say that things happen in The Swamp. That benders are lured into its trap by the sound of its voice, beckoning them in.

Prince Zuko turned against from the tree that was calling him closer, and began to walk away.

* * *

An hour later he emerged into the clearing, the sky an inky canvas of darkness, his face blank and unresponsive. 

The brash peasant girl gasped as she looked up at him. Deep lines had webbed themselves beneath her glazed brown eyes. Her dark hair was a tangled mess around her ashen face. Slowly, she drew a breath of relief.

"I thought you might never come out!" she shrieked. "And it would have been _my _fault if you didn't! You were in there for hours!"

The words washed over Zuko. His fatigued mind was barely able to comprehend what she was saying.

"Zuko!"

Iroh placed a warm hand on his nephew's shoulder, scrutinizing him with shrewd eyes. A bitter smirk played at the prince's lips. His uncle really shouldn't have used his actual name in the presence of the Earth Kingdom peasant.

Neither of the two firebenders cared at the moment.

"Are you alright?" Iroh asked urgently. He gave Zuko's shoulder a slight squeeze.

Normally, the prince would have shifted his shoulder immediately out of his uncle's reach. Right now he remained still and listless. Iroh's haggard expression gave away his worry. Vaguely, Zuko felt guilt touch him. He had hoped the old general wouldn't fret so much.

"What happened in there?" he heard Iroh inquire.

A part of Zuko wanted Iroh to know. Another part knew that Iroh could never know. This was his burden. He was forced to carry it alone.

"Nothing happened," he spoke in a hoarse whisper. "There's nothing supernatural about this mud-hole."

The peasant girl sniffled loudly. "You must just be really dense! Anybody can tell this is an ominous place filled with magic!"

All it took was one glance into Iroh's eyes and Zuko knew that his uncle didn't believe him. No matter. As long as the man didn't question him tonight—he didn't have the energy to deny what had happened back in that muddy hell. .

They began to tread gradually back to their humble campsite, the peasant girl still in tow, bickering stubbornly about the mysteries that lay behind them in the bog she would never enter.

People say that things happened in The Swamp.

And Prince Zuko believed them.


End file.
